


It Lights Up the Sky

by im2old4thisotp



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon-Compliant, Established Relationship, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Jackson is an asshole, Lydia Martin has intimacy issues, POV Alternating, post 6a
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 13:28:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9899228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/im2old4thisotp/pseuds/im2old4thisotp
Summary: “I don’t have a key to the house anymore. I gave it to my mom.” Lydia was embarrassed. But why would she think to keep the key? She was going to be at school in Boston, for God’s sake, she didn’t need a key to a house in California.Stiles’ voice interrupted her thoughts. “Oh, I have one. Here.” She heard a jingling as he fished keys out of his pocket, searching for the right one.Lydia walked to the back of the car and gave Stiles a confused look from around the trunk hood. “How do you have a key to my lake house?”“I made a copy. I gave all the other keys to Scott, but I thought this one might come in handy...sometime...you know?” He dropped the key into her hand with a grin. “Guess I was right.”Lydia smiled at Stiles before walking up to the lake house door. She called over her shoulder, “Then we should have done this a long time ago.”“Damn straight!”





	

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU a million times ten million to Rachel, @writergirl8, who took time out of her insanely busy life (seriously, y'all don't even know) to encourage me with this writing and then beta-reading it on top of that. You didn't have to, but I love that you did. I feel like it was like asking JK Rowling to read a magical story I had written. So happy to have the best. This fic would literally not have existed without you. *muah* love love love you.
> 
> A couple of story notes: 
> 
> I’m ignoring the existence of prom. In my head canon, the prom is cancelled, or scheduled for the time when suddenly everyone in Beacon Hills disappeared. I refuse to handle the prom thing.
> 
> Use protection, kids. Do as I say, not as I write.
> 
> Thanks to Adele’s 25 album, Sade’s Lovers Rock album, and Ellie Goulding’s song Powerful for getting me through this writing.
> 
> I'm @im2old4thisotp on Twitter and Tumblr.
> 
> This is the first fanfic I have ever written, and literally the longest thing I have written in 16 years, since composing my senior performance piece in college. Thank you, Stydia for inspiring me. Getting into your space was as easy as breathing for me.

*****************  


And still, after all this time,  
The Sun has never said to the Earth,  
_“You owe me.”  
_ Look what happens with love like that. It lights up the sky.

\--Rumi

*************

The car ate up the road as it moved along towards the setting sun. They were getting a later start than they had anticipated, but there were so many goodbyes to say, and then Stiles had wanted to stop by the gravesite one last time to say goodbye to Claudia and tell her about his summer studies program at GW.  Before they knew it, the afternoon was upon them and they were just getting on the road. The Sheriff had tried to talk them into staying for one more night, but the insistent squeeze on Stiles’ hand was enough signal for him to give a final hug and head out.

The car was packed for the journey. All their bags were piled in the trunk, and the back seat was filled with still more bags (these from Urban Home--she insisted he was not going to live in squalor at school), plus an assortment of magazines, Sudoku puzzles, the Star Wars Complete Saga boxed set on Blu-Ray, and nearly the entire candy aisle selection from the 7-11 (“I need it to stay awake on the road!” Stiles insisted. “When have you ever had trouble staying awake, Stiles?” was the reply).

The town faded in the rearview and the road stretched out in front of them, and Stiles felt a sense of loss creeping in. The town that he knew like the back of his hand was part of his past now. He had graduated. He was leaving California and becoming an east coaster. Everything that had happened since his best friend became a werewolf had completely changed who he was and how he viewed the world. Stiles smiled to himself. It was amazing, really, that he was still alive--even if he was fresh from another dimension. He felt like a completely different person.

The biggest change in his life (and Stiles would say the most _epic_ change) was the warmth on his hand as he drove. He looked down to the center console, where his right hand was interlaced with Lydia’s left hand. It was hard to tell which fingers were his and which were hers. His eyes traveled up her arm to her profile. Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted; she must be asleep. Her strawberry blonde hair cascaded around her shoulders and down her arm. The light and shadows from the afternoon sun threw her features into light and dark, and Stiles’ breath caught in his throat as he again realized that she is _his_ now.

“Eyes on the road, Stiles.”

Stiles reluctantly tore his eyes from Lydia’s face. “Shit,” Stiles muttered under his breath, as he realized they had drifted onto the shoulder.  He pulled his hand away from Lydia’s and made a quick adjustment on the wheel, bringing them back into their lane.

“If you kill us before we even make it out of California, it will really ruin our trip.” Lydia’s eyes remained closed, but a small smile appeared on her lips.

“If you weren’t so damn beautiful, I could be a more effective driver,” Stiles countered.  He reached for her hand, fingers interlacing with Lydia’s again.  “How did you even know I was looking at you and not the road?”

Lydia opened her eyes and looked over at Stiles. “You ran over the rumble strips that indicate you’re out of your lane,” she stated. “You didn’t notice?”

“Umm…” Stiles’ fingers drummed on the wheel as he fumbled for an excuse.

Lydia interrupted his thoughts. “Maybe I should drive.”

“I don’t think so, sweetheart. Plus, I don’t think your feet will reach the pedals,” Stiles teased. He lifted her hand to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on it. “I’ll take good care of us, I promise.”

Lydia watched him as he kept his eyes on the road, their hands coming to rest on the console again. She took his focus as an opportunity to study his profile again. The wild and unruly spikes in his hair, his gently upturned nose, those perfect lips that were so soft on hers. The only thing disappointing about this view was that she couldn’t get lost in his amber-colored eyes, the ones that could see right into every part of her she had tried to hide for so long.

As she closed her eyes again, she remembered all that had happened the last month. After the Wild Hunt disappeared, it had been quiet, supernaturally speaking. Stiles and Lydia had ached to spend every minute of every day together, but the fact remained that he had been gone for 3 months and there was some catching up to do with life. Stiles had the hardest time talking with his dad about Claudia’s materialization. Sheriff had taken a few days off of work at the station, and he and Stiles had gone to Claudia’s gravesite to say goodbye to her again. And even though he was forgotten and erased for 3 months, his absences from school were quickly remembered and he had quite a lot of make up work to do in order to graduate. Lydia fell into a comfortable routine of going to the Stilinski’s house everyday after school, helping Stiles catch up with work, helping him make delicious, healthy meals for the Sheriff (they even made several freezer meals in an attempt to get him to eat better--which they fully expected to still be there when they came back at Christmas), and just...breathing together. Lydia’s favorite moments were when they fell asleep curled together on the couch, covered for once in school notes instead of the latest case files. Sheriff would wake Lydia up before it got too late, or Natalie would come and pick her up--both of their parents not willing to let them sleep over. Natalie was also having a hard time thinking of sending her baby to the other side of the country for four years (actually 12 when you count the doctoral program, but best not to bother her with that info quite yet), and she was having a hard time letting go.

The reality in which they found themselves was so lived in, so comfortable. And to Lydia, it was more intimate than anything she had ever experienced before. Because for the first time, she was in love with someone who loved her back.

************

 _Whenever I'm alone with you_  
_You make me feel like I am home again_  
_Whenever I'm alone with you_  
_You make me feel like I am whole again_  
_(Love Song, by Adele)_  
  
**************

The gravel shook Lydia awake, and a couple of moments passed before she realized that they had left the road, and it was dark.

“Stiles?” Lydia asked in a sleep-riddled voice.

“Hey Lydia, I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

She stretched her stiff limbs. “It’s okay. I’m sorry I fell asleep! I’m supposed to help you on the drive.”

“Eh, it’s okay. I had my handy bag of Swedish Fish to keep the tired away. Plus, we haven’t been driving that long.”

“Ugh, Stiles. You _know_ how I feel about Swedish Fish.”

He grinned. “Yes, I do. Which is why I ate them while you were asleep.”

Lydia looked around and recognized familiar scenery. “Umm...are we at the lake house?”

Stiles nodded. “Yeah, I was starting to get sleepy, and it’s late, so I...um….thought we could stop here for the night to, you know, get some sleep, and um...get an early start tomorrow. I looked up the listing on AirBnB and it isn’t booked.”

He had tried to play it casual, but Lydia couldn’t miss his nervous rambling and the fact that his fingers started drumming a wild beat on the wheel. She smiled. “That’s a great idea, Stiles. I have a couple of things here that I would like to take with me anyway.” She hoped she sounded calm. But the truth is, as soon as she had realized their destination, her heart started pounding a wild beat. Not for the first time, she was thankful that Stiles wasn’t a werewolf, because she could get away with the wild heartbeat, hide the chemo signals she is surely giving off in spades. And anyways, this was perfect. No parents, no distractions. Just the two of them. Finally.

It would probably come as a surprise, but since Stiles’ return through the rift, they hadn’t done much more than kiss. A part of Lydia couldn’t believe it either, and in years past she would have taken it personally. But a lack of interest is certainly not the issue here. Lydia knows that sex with Stiles will be so much more than just sex--there’s so much emotion and so much passion wrapped up in it now--as old-fashioned as it sounds, it will be making love for them. For so long, Stiles has given to Lydia--his heart, his time, his protection--he gives and gives to her, and never expects anything from her in return. Even when he was brought through the rift, he didn’t ask for an “I love you” from her. He just gave her his heart and left the reins in her hands for everything, which is just what she needed. She had been damaged by her parents’ divorce, and Jackson (even more than Stiles knows), and Stiles had slowly put the pieces of her heart back together. Now she wanted the chance to give back to him. Knowing Stiles the way she does, she knows he doesn’t want something quick in the back of a car, or forced quiet so they don’t wake their parents. And to be honest, she doesn’t, either. He deserves her complete abandon, if she can give it, and the only way she could manage that is if they were truly alone.

Stiles pulled up to the front of the lake house, putting the car in park and turning off the engine. He squeezed her hand and got out of the car, coming around to her side. When he opened the door and extended his hand to her, she asked, “Are you hungry? I think my mom has some food here.”

Stiles pulled her gently to her feet, and wrapped his other arm around her back, walking her slowly backwards until she was up against the rear door of the car. He leaned into her, his body covering hers slowly, his face inching towards her. Instead of meeting her lips, he leaned his face to the side to whisper low in her ear, “Yes, Lydia. I am _hungry_.”

Lydia couldn’t help the shiver that engulfed her. It was a good thing that he had his hands around her waist, because she is fairly sure she would have fallen down if he wasn’t there. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and sighed. “Well, then. Let’s go inside and take care of that.”

Stiles lifted his head and pressed his lips to hers. He only meant to give her a short kiss (he was also hungry for, you know, _food_ ), but she responded so thoroughly that he forgot all about that. He threaded one hand up into her hair and pulled her even closer with his other hand. He felt her moan into his mouth, and it was probably the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. He pulled gently on her hair and angled the kiss, and when she opened her mouth to him, he thrust his tongue inside, exploring her with his mouth, their tongues rubbing together in tandem. It felt like he was melting into her. As desperate as he was, she was giving as much to him, her hands holding the sides of his face, just as she did the night she brought him back through the rift. Their breaths intermixed as each of them gasped for air, clinging to each other.

Reluctantly, Stiles broke away, his heart pounding erratically, trying to catch his breath. “We have to go inside the house, Lydia, or our first time is going to be against the side of this car, and I want more for you than that.” He dropped his hands to Lydia’s waist, making sure she was steady on her feet before he stepped back. His eyes never left hers, and she was pleased to see that he was as shaken as she was. She saw him slowly gain his composure by taking deep breaths, and she matched his technique, needing to get control of her heartbeat, as well. He interrupted the silence with quiet, ragged words that seemed like a prayer, “God, Lydia. You are so beautiful.”

She smiled a shy, half smile at him, and he walked to the trunk to get a few things. She could hear him taking deep breaths to steady himself, and she almost giggled before she realized that she needed to do the same. She grabbed her purse out of the front seat to fish for her keys, and had a horrible realization. “Umm, Stiles?”

“Yeah?” His voice filtered from the trunk.

“I don’t have a key to the house anymore. I gave it to my mom.” Lydia was embarrassed. But why would she think to keep the key? She was going to be at school in Boston, for God’s sake, she didn’t need a key to a house in California.

Stiles’ voice interrupted her thoughts. “Oh, I have one. Here.” She heard a jingling as he fished keys out of his pocket, searching for the right one.

Lydia walked to the back of the car and gave Stiles a confused look from around the trunk hood. “How do _you_ have a key to _my_ lake house?”

“I made a copy. I gave all the other keys to Scott, but I thought this one might come in handy...sometime...you know?” He dropped the key into her hand with a grin. “Guess I was right.”

Lydia smiled at Stiles before walking up to the lake house door. She called over her shoulder, “Then we should have done this a long time ago.”

“Damn straight!” Stiles’ voice followed her as she unlocked the door and entered the house. She turned around to look at him, where he was frantically grabbing bags from the trunk, dropping a few of them to the ground in the process. As she heard him muttering curses under his breath, Lydia smiled to herself. He was older, and more precious to her now, but through it all, he was *still* the goofy kid who had sprayed perfume in his own face.

 

*******************

I find it funny that you're the only one I never looked for  
There is something in your loving that tears down my walls  
I wasn't ready then; I'm ready now  
I'm heading straight for you  
You will only be eternally  
_The one that I belong to_  
(Sweetest Devotion, by Adele)

*******************

 

It’s the music that catches Lydia’s attention. She’s just putting on moisturizer after her shower when she hears a heavy pop beat drifting up the stairs. She quickly finishes her routine, then pulls on Stiles’ lacrosse jersey--the one that she has been sleeping in since it appeared in his room. She quietly pads down the stairs, wanting to catch Stiles in one of his routines that he vehemently denies.

“ _I can't contain this anymore...I'm all yours...I've got no control..._ ” Stiles’ voice drowns out the music coming from the phone perched on the counter. Lydia peeks around the corner and sees him, with her mom’s apron around his waist, stirring a steaming pot on the stove. He doesn’t notice her, thankfully, so she is able to watch him, tucking this moment away in her file of “Ammunition Against Stiles”.

“ _Powerless...and I don't care it's obvious...I just can't get enough of you..._ ” Stiles is now singing into the wooden spoon like a microphone, and sliding his socked feet across the wood floor. Lydia has to clamp her hand over her mouth, so she doesn’t give herself away. But she can’t quite stifle the giggle in time, and Stiles immediately freezes and grabs for his phone, muting the music.

“Lydia! Done with your shower already! I was just, um, finishing up dinn--” Stiles turns and chokes on the end of his sentence as Lydia comes around the corner. When he sees what she is wearing, he visibly swallows and his mouth drops open.

“I’m pretty sure Tom Cruise wasn’t wearing any pants when _he_ did those moves.” Lydia smirked at his incredulity. “I could have sworn there was a very emphatic, ‘I don’t dance while I’m cooking’ statement that came from your mouth not two weeks ago.”

Stiles regains his composure and counters, “Well, Miss Know-It-All, I am not ‘cooking’. So my original statement stands. I am merely boiling noodles and heating sauce. That’s like, the sub-basement level of cooking. And in the sub-basement of cooking, we sing and dance.”

“To One Direction.” Lydia was trying desperately to keep the laughter at bay--after all, he was damn sexy, shaking his amazing ass in those jeans--but she would rather die than admit that at this moment.

“Of course. One Direction is the official soundtrack of sub-basement food preparation.”

“So, you’re not ‘cooking’. But you _are_ prancing around the kitchen in my mom’s apron.”

“You know, normally I would try to defend myself, but I’m having a hard time forming a solid argument in the presence of what _you’re_ wearing.”

Lydia looked down. His jersey covered her from neck to just above her knees. “I’m completely covered here, Stiles. This is the most un-sexy thing I have.”

Stiles cleared his throat. “Um, yes, technically you are ‘covered’. But it is also a fact that you aren’t wearing pants. And it is completely unfair to look _that_ good in my old, ratty jersey.”

“I love this jersey. It’s the first thing that reappeared in your room. I don’t think you’re ever getting it back, actually.”

Stiles turned back to the pots on the stove, turning them off. “Well, it looks infinitely better on you than it ever did on me.”

Lydia walked to the fridge to grab a bottle of water. “Spaghetti sounds so good right now.”

Stiles shrugged, “I don’t get to flex my culinary muscles for you this evening, but since we weren’t planning on stopping for the night, this will have to do.” He used a spoon to pull a long noodle out of the pot, letting it dangle for a moment before picking it up with his fingers and gesturing it towards her. “Want to test if it’s ready?”

“Um, can’t you just take a bite?”

“Sure, but what’s the fun in that?” Stiles grinned as he started swinging the noodle by one end like a lasso, faster and faster until he let go--the noodle soared straight upwards and stuck to the ceiling. “Yes! Bullseye!”

“Stiles! What are you doing?!?” Lydia walked over to him, grabbing the spoon. “This house has to always be ready for guests, and you’re flinging noodles at the ceiling!”

“Well, yeah! That’s how you tell if they’re done or not!”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “What in the world are you talking about?”

Stiles couldn’t believe it. “Wait--Lydia Martin, genius-level IQ, doesn’t know about the noodle-sticking-on-the-wall trick?”

Lydia crossed her arms. “Are you going to tell me, or are you going to keep dangling your superior expertise over my head?”

“Give me a minute--this might be the _only_ area in which I have superior expertise over you! Anyway, you throw the cooked noodle on the wall. If it sticks, then it is done enough. If it doesn’t, then it needs to cook more.” He pours the water out of the noodle pot into the sink. “That one stuck, so the pasta is ready.”

“That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard.” At that moment, the pasta noodle fell from the ceiling and landed on Lydia’s still-damp hair, one end draped over her forehead.  

“Oh. I guess it isn’t quite done.” Stiles burst into laughter.  

“Aaah! Stiles! This is not funny!” But even as she was saying it, she couldn’t contain her own giggles, and they laughed together as Stiles put down the bowl of noodles and helped to fish the sticky spaghetti strand out of her hair. “I think I’ll stick with just taste-testing from now on. Where did you learn that, anyway?”

Stiles threw the noodle in the trash and finished prepping the dinner. “That was one of my Mom’s tricks. When she first got sick, she realized that she wasn’t going to see me grow up. So she kind of made it her mission to teach me as many life skills as possible--not easy for a nine-year-old with attention issues. She managed to teach me by making everything into a game.” Stiles got the wistful look in his eyes that he often got when he thought of good memories of Claudia. Lydia leaned on the kitchen island and played with the ends of her hair as he talked. “She taught me how to make some basic lunches and dinners, how to do my laundry, how to divide up the lights and darks by throwing them in different piles with my lacrosse stick, she even showed me how to change the batteries in the smoke detector, because she said that Dad always forgot.”

Lydia smiled at the memories as Stiles handed her a plate of spaghetti. “What other tricks did she teach you?”

“Did you know that if you write on a banana with a toothpick, by the time it is lunchtime, the message will appear?” Lydia smiled. “I’m sure that’s obvious to you, but when you’re 9, that shit is amazing. I loved reading the notes that she would write. Most of the time it was just an ‘I love you’ or ‘See you after school’. But sometimes she’d draw these really funny attempts at Star Wars characters, or she’d write a joke without the punchline, so I could ask her when I got home.” Stiles paused for a moment and looked up at Lydia, a single tear running down his cheek. “When the notes stopped making sense is right about the time she went into the hospital.” He wiped the tear from the back of his hand.

“Stiles, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s been so long--there’s a lot of memories that have disappeared over time. It’s always the worst memories that seem to stay the clearest. I can remember her last day like I’m still sitting beside her bed. But I don’t remember what she used to smell like. Things like the spaghetti? They slam into me in the strangest moments. I love when good memories fight their way to the top. It seems to happen less and less.” They ate in silence for a bit. It wasn’t uncomfortable--they were past a point where silence was a bother to them--but they were each lost in their own thoughts; Stiles with Claudia, Lydia with the little boy who lost his mom and had to grow up way too fast. The only sounds they heard were the clinking of fork to plate as they finished their food. Stiles took their empty plates to the sink and rinsed them.

When Stiles’ back was to her, Lydia spoke, “You know she loved you.”

“I know she did.” Stiles turned off the water and wiped his hands on a towel.

Lydia looked at his back, and said what she had wanted to say for so long. “I love you, too.”

Stiles froze. He turned slowly, his eyes questioning. “What did you say?"

“When we were bringing you back through the rift, I watched a replay of all of our moments together. I _knew_ that I had already told you--until I watched it replayed to me and I realized I hadn’t. I couldn’t believe it, Stiles. Because I have loved you a little bit more every day since I first kissed you in that locker room, and I should have told you. I should have told you every day. I never want to miss the opportunity to tell you ever again.” She looked at him with confidence and all the love she had in her. “I love you, Stiles Stilinski.”

Stiles blew out the breath that he had been holding. He dropped the towel and walked toward Lydia, never breaking eye contact. The tension in the room shifted, and Lydia was aching to be in his arms by the time he reached her. When he was right in front of her, he lifted his hands to her cheeks, and held her face while he stared at her in awe. “Oh my God, Lydia.”  Her name was lost as he pressed his lips to hers. Her arms wrapped around his waist, and she pulled him closer. She heard his sigh and matched his kiss.

She didn’t know how much she needed to say the words until they were out. But now that she has said them, she feels lighter, somehow. Like the last shackle of who she used to be has been thrown off, and she can move freely. And she feels like _moving_. She stretches up onto her tiptoes to deepen the kiss, spreading her hands into the back of his flannel and grabbing them in fistfuls, trying to pull him closer. She wants them to meld together, so you can’t tell where either one of them begins or ends. Because that is how she feels when she is with him. Her edges are fuzzy, the lines of her life blurring between past and future. All she sees and feels is Stiles. Her entire make-up is wrapped up into this man in front of her who loved her without reservation or expectation longer than she can even comprehend.

They pull away from each other briefly, and lean their foreheads together. Stiles whispers, “Say it again, Lydia.”

“I love you, Stiles.”

He smiles into her mouth and kisses her again. She grabs his upper arms, marveling at the muscles under his flannel--why does she always forget this athleticism? “My God, Lydia, I’ve waited so long to hear you say that. I think it might make me a little crazy.” Then he pulls away with a wink, and Stiles throws his head back and suddenly yells, “Did you hear that, Universe? Lydia Martin LOVES me! That’s right! SHE! LOVES! ME!” Lydia laughs and ducks her head into his chest. He slowly lifts her chin back up to him and whispers in an awed voice, “You love me.” He cradles her face in his hands and kisses her on the forehead. “You know, you can’t just say something like that and expect me to spend the night on the couch.”

“Thank God.”

Stiles hesitates. “Are you sure? I know we stopped here for the night, and I’ve been teasing you, but if you’re not ready, we can wait, Lydia.”

Lydia could see his eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation. But he wouldn’t find any. They had waited long enough--lifetimes, it felt like. She leaned into his ear and whispered, “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

It took everything he had to stay calm--he wanted to sprint up the stairs and drag Lydia behind him. He was also definitely _not_ going to text Scott. Definitely not...until tomorrow at least. Stiles took Lydia’s hand and led her up the stairs and into the bedroom. The room was dark, but he turned back toward her, the sight that filled his eyes making his heart feel like it was sitting directly in the back of his throat, pounding like wildfire through his vision. She was gently lit by the soft glow from the bathroom light, her hair, still slightly damp, tumbling down around her shoulders. He wanted to reach for it and thread his fingers through it, but he just stood, gazing at this woman whom he had waited for for so long. Now, suddenly, she is _there_ , right in front of him. And knowing that she loved him back had made her even more beautiful. He didn’t even know that was possible. Just hearing those three precious words directed at him had made everything in the world come into sharper focus. He had ached to hear them, even though he _knew_ that she did, but hearing them out loud was something he never knew he wanted so badly. Lydia Martin was a goddess. She didn’t give her love to just anyone. The fact that she now gave it to him made him even more determined to show her exactly what she means to him.

Lydia looked back at Stiles. He was so beautiful to her. His tousled hair that she loved to slide between her fingers when they kissed. The ridiculous flannels that he would wrap around the two of them when she got cold. The strong arms that had held her after Allison and had carried her out of Eichen house. The long fingers that connected red and yellow and green strings and were constantly moving and sent a jolt that ran directly down into the heat of her when she looked at them. His mind that was constantly working, solving problems and _reading_ people and processing through cases and effortlessly keeping up with her with his wit and charm. But the most beautiful part was the heart that beat underneath. The heart that held the fears and worries and anxieties but also the loyalty and the dedication and the support and the love for the pack and his family and her, always her. She had never felt this way about anyone, and she wanted to show him exactly how he had taken her perfectly ordered world and shifted it on its axis. She wanted to spin his world in return.

Lydia stepped toward Stiles, sliding the flannel down his arms. She lifted it to her face, taking a deep breath in. “Your jersey smelled like you when it reappeared. Olfactory memory has a high resistance to interference. Your scent was literally keeping the Wild Hunt from erasing you from me, Stiles.” She dropped the flannel and reached for the bottom of his t-shirt, pulling it up and over his head, letting out an audible gasp when she saw his happy trail. Her hands gently splayed onto his stomach, her thumbs threading through the hair under his navel. She flipped her hands over and tucked her fingers into the waistband of his jeans, and pulled Stiles towards her. His arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly against him. “What am I going to do with you?”

“You’re going to let me see that cute little ass,” he replied. His hands rubbed against her back, pulling his jersey up as he bent his head down and nuzzled against her neck. She angled her head so he could have better access, her hands splaying across his lower back. His hands reached under the jersey and brushed against the top of her underwear. “Oh my god, they’re lace,” she heard him moan into her neck. “I have got to see this.” He pulled away from her and grabbed the bottom of the jersey, pulling it unceremoniously over her head, causing Lydia to giggle at his haste. She was wearing a maroon lace bra and matching cheekies, and the noise that chokes out of his throat when he sees them is definitely a mood-killer. Lydia doesn’t seem to mind, though; the way that Stiles looks at her is giving her goosebumps.

He was fully appreciating the way her smooth skin glowed in the soft light, the way her hair tumbled down her shoulders and around her bra, the swell of her breasts as they rose and fell, the dip of her hips and her perfect, petite legs. He also notices her scars--the puckering on her left side from Peter’s attack, the jagged lines on her right side from Tracy, the one on her head from Valach that she keeps hidden. The ones she hides the deepest are inside her heart, though. She has endured more than anyone. He can’t believe she let him in.

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” He reaches for her, one hand reaching up to thread into the hair behind her neck, the other snaking around her and cupping her backside. His lips smashed against hers, and suddenly they were all lips and tongue. Her hands traveled down his back and around the front, undoing the button at his waistband, letting his jeans fall. He broke away from her temporarily to step out of them, but couldn’t stay away long. His hands trailed up her side, delighting in the moan it elicited from her. His fingers swept along the underside of her bra, his thumbs reaching up to rub across her nipple through the lace. She arched against his hands, pressing herself into him, wanting more. She dragged her mouth away from his, and settled at the base of his neck, lightly nipping at him until she found a spot that made him moan, and then sucking on him, leaving a mark. His right hand follows her bra strap to her back, unhooking it with one hand before sliding it down her arms. His head rests on her neck, his hands on her sides where her bra used to sit, his breathing growing more uneven. Lydia continues kissing his neck, aching for Stiles to move his hands to ease the growing weight in her breasts, when she realizes that his breathing is _too_ fast.

“Stiles?” She pulls back from him and puts her hands on his cheeks. His eyes are unfocused, darting from her breasts to her shoulders to her forehead. “Stiles. Breathe. It’s okay.” He pulls his hands from behind her and she sees his fingers, jerking erratically as if he is trying to count them. She starts breathing louder for him, deep breaths in and out as she talks. “Yes, Stiles. Count your fingers. Count them slowly. You’re okay. Deep breaths, Stiles. Deep breaths. I’m here. I’m not leaving you. Look, count your fingers. One…” She points to his first finger, and his eyes fix on it. “Breathe, Stiles. In and out. Two…” She points to the next finger. “Three...that’s it. You’re okay. I’m here. I’m not leaving.” They continued to count together, Lydia relaxing when his breathing starts to slow. She keeps breathing deeply, in and out, his body relaxing, his eyes calming. “...Nine….Ten.” He lets out a long, deep breath, and slowly meets her eyes. “Ten fingers. You’re not dreaming, Stiles.”

He doesn’t speak for a few moments. When he does, it is quiet. “I know I’m not. It’s just….this is what my dreams have looked like for so long, Lydia.” He buries his face in the crook of her neck, and wraps his arms tightly around her. She holds him close, her fingers caressing the hair on the back of his head.  “I’m sorry. I got so overwhelmed.”

“You don’t have to apologize. This is overwhelming for me, too.” His hands were caressing her back, up and down, long firm strokes, like he was reassuring himself that this wasn’t a dream. It broke her heart, she wanted to fight all of his demons for him, and help heal him the way he had healed her. She laid soft, gentle kisses on his shoulders. “Let’s take this slow, okay?”

“Okay,” he replied. He started nuzzling the side of her neck a few moments later, and Lydia let out a sigh. His breath warmed her as his mouth traced a hot path up to her earlobe, catching it between his teeth. She tilted her neck to give him better access, and she couldn’t contain the shivers of pleasure when he focused his intensity on a sensitive spot just under her ear. His right hand moved around to cover her breast, the pad of his thumb rubbing slow circles against her nipple, his fingers caressing the side. Lydia brought her head back to look at him, his eyes so intent on her face. She tried to hold his gaze, to feel herself get lost in his eyes, but the feeling he was giving her was so incredible, she closed her eyes and lost herself to it, whimpering softly as jolts of electricity spread all the way down to her toes. She had dreamed about his hands on her this way, his fingers working magic, but even her most vivid dreams weren’t like this. She felt her knees give out a little, and she fell against him, his left arm supporting her.  He guided her back to the bed, sitting when she felt the bed behind her knees. Stiles moved between her knees to follow her, but she put her hands on his stomach, stopping him. He looked down at her questioningly, but her eyes were on his waistline. She slowly tucked her fingertips into the elastic of his boxer-briefs and pulls them down. She looked up at him through her lashes, smiling shyly when she saw that his lips were parted. “Lydia,” she could hear the strain in his voice. “What are you doing?”

She licked her lips and put her mouth around the tip of his cock, her fingertips trailing heavily up his inner thighs. She kept her eyes on him as she licked up and down his length. Then she slowly pulled him fully inside her mouth, trying hard not to smile when she saw his head snap back and heard his loud moan, “ _Fuuuuuuuck_.” His hands flew to the back of her head, his fingers threading through her hair. His surrender made her bolder, and her hands massaged him as her tongue rolled up and down the length of him in her mouth. She pulled back slowly and then pulled him into her again, deeper this time. She saw his head fall forward, his eyes locking on her, and she kept eye contact as she pulled him in and out, his expressions making her bolder. His hips instinctively moved forward as she pulled him into her mouth, and she reached behind him to grab his ass and pull him even closer. She could feel his legs trembling and hear his moans get louder and more insistent. She felt a heady rush of power, that she could make him lose control like this, and she started moaning against him.

She felt him tighten his grip on her hair, and heard his moans turn into “wait...wait...no, Lydia, stop.” He pulled himself out of her mouth and sunk to his knees in front of her, folding over with his hands on the floor like he had just run a mile sprint.

Lydia was confused. She thought he would like it--didn’t he? Was it not...good? _Oh god._ “Stiles?”

It took him a minute, then Stiles looked up at her, his breaths labored. “I’m sorry. I...I just...I need a second. I didn’t want to come.”

She looks at him, confused. “That’s the point, though. I was trying to make you come.”

Stiles looked up at her, bringing his hands up to rest on top of her thighs. “Lydia, if you want to do that again sometime, I am completely happy to oblige you. But I don’t want this to be over yet. This time, I want us to come together.” He raised up on his knees, his hands sliding to the inside of her thighs. “Is that okay with you?” His fingers slowly moved towards the junction of her thighs.

Lydia’s mind was reeling. “You want us to...come together.”

“ _God_ , yes. But for the record, that thing you were doing with your mouth was mind-blowing.” His hands slid to her hips and pulled on the waistband of her underwear, and she leaned back on her elbows and lifted her hips as he slid them off of her.

Lydia’s heart was pounding in anticipation. She lost sight of Stiles for a moment as he pulled her underwear off of her legs, but when he came back up on his knees she clenched everywhere at the sight of his face. He was looking at her like this priceless treasure--no one had ever looked at her the way he did. He leaned over her, helping to slide her up to the pillow. He settled himself on his side, lifting himself up on his elbow so he could look down at her. She could feel him pressed against her hip, and she moved restlessly.

Would she ever not take his breath away? He wanted to memorize every inch of her, to feel her skin under his fingertips, to taste her, to feel her warmth surrounding him. He wanted to touch her everywhere, all at once, to overwhelm her the same way she did to him just by being in the same room with him. He leaned down to kiss her, and the fire ignited again between them. His mouth dueled with hers as his hand roamed freely over her body, skimming around her breast and rubbing against her nipple, smoothing down over her stomach, caressing over her hip and down her leg before trailing a hot path up the inside of her thigh. When he touched the very heat of her, they moaned at the same time. “God, Lydia. You’re so wet.”

She spread her knees apart so he could get better access, whimpers escaping from her as his fingers circled her clit and teased her opening. Her mind emptied of all thought, and she gave herself over to the feeling of his fingers against her, the pressure building and building within her until she thought she would pass out from it. “Stiles,” she murmured breathlessly. “That feels so good. Please...please...don’t stop. I want...I ah--” Her thoughts were cut off as he slipped two fingers inside her, her hips bowing instinctively against him. This was new, this feeling, and it was so intense she was shaken. She opened her eyes to see Stiles watching her from above, his tongue rubbing along his bottom lip, imitating the movements that his fingers were making inside her.

“Yes, baby. I’m here. God, you look so beautiful.” He bent and kissed her collarbone and worked his way down, kissing the valley between her breasts and taking her nipple into his mouth. She arched up against him as he began to tease her with his tongue and his teeth, all while his fingers worked her clit, and she didn’t know if she could take any more of the pleasure. She was white-hot, the fire filling every space of her body.

“Stiles, please, don’t stop” her voice was strained, her body drenched in sweat. Stiles moved above her, looking down into her eyes. “I love you, Stiles. Please.”

Her pleas were his undoing. He moved on top of her, braced himself on either side of her head and thrust into her, long and slow. His head dropped to the crook of her neck and he moaned, “ _Fuck_ , Lydia.”

“Yes, Stiles. Fuck me,” Her voice was insistent, demanding. She was on the brink, her skin stretched tight, every nerve in her body alight and on edge. She lifted her knees and brought him in closer, relishing the feel of him, filling her spaces. Her hands wrapped behind him, pulling him closer, her nails digging into him. “Please…”

Stiles could barely think. He had wanted to go slow, to drink in every moment with her. But now that he was exquisitely surrounded by her heat, he just wanted more. He pulled back and thrust into her again, pushing even deeper, the moans coming from her driving him harder and faster. “You feel so good, baby, you’re so beautiful, I love you so much.” He drove into her over and over, mindless to anything but her, the feel of her surrounding him, the building between them. He reached down between their joined bodies and circled her clit with his fingers, feeling her tighten around him and scream his name.

“Oh god...Stiles!” The tremors spiraled through her, and she rode the waves over and over, spiraling down around him, the feeling overwhelming her as she clung to him. Her release triggered his own, and he thrust his hips forward one more time, spilling himself into her as she clenched around him.

Stiles collapsed onto Lydia, his head dropping to the crook of her neck, their breaths mixed with sweat and the smell of sex. He realized he may be crushing her, so he braced himself on his elbows, but couldn’t pull out of her, couldn’t seem to keep himself from burying his nose in her hair, breathing her in deeply as his heartbeat slowly returned to normal and his breath evened. A few minutes passed before he felt he had enough in him to move. But he still couldn’t bring himself to leave her, so he rolled to his side and hauled her up against him so that he could continue to lay kisses onto her forehead, eyes closed, their legs intertwined. Lydia’s arms wrapped around Stiles’ waist and held tight to him.

“Shit. That was….” He trailed off, trying to find a word that could encapsulate everything that he was feeling. Was there a word that could describe what just happened? He was fumbling through adjectives in his brain when he realized that Lydia was shaking against him.

“I’m sorry. I’m not hurting you, am I?” He leaned his head back so he could see her face--only to realize that she was crying. Stiles immediately pulled back. “Oh my god. Lydia? What’s wrong?” He gently touched her hair, her arms, her stomach. When he couldn’t find anything wrong, he begged her with his eyes to tell him what was wrong.

“I’m not hurt,” she finally answered.

Stiles audibly exhaled, relief flooding his body. He was touching her with so much care, it made her cry even harder. She buried herself back against him, her forehead against his chest, his arms wrapping around her and pulling her close, his hands trailing soothing patterns on her back. He was worried, but now that he knew she wasn’t in pain, he relaxed a bit.  He continued to stroke her back, whispering words that he hoped were soothing. He held her for a long time, letting her tears fall down his chest, his worry returning the longer she cried. He slowly felt her shaking subside, and her pulling back to look at him. He lifted his hands to her face, gently cupping her cheeks, using the pads of his thumbs to wipe the moisture away. He tenderly kissed her lips, which were salty with her tears.

She looked up at him. The look that he was giving her almost broke her again. So much love. So much tenderness and care and concern. He touches her like she is made of porcelain and fire. It was so foreign to her, this kind of love. He didn’t demand anything from her--just gave and gave and gave. She felt guilty for taking so much, but also felt starved for him. How did she possibly deserve something like this? She reached up to touch the side of his face. He leaned into her hand, whispering, “Please, Lydia. Talk to me.”

Lydia took a deep breath. She took his hands into hers and pulled them to her mouth, kissing them softly before pulling them to her chest. She looked into his eyes and whispered, “I can’t believe you just did that. I was just….I… Stiles, that was the most beautiful thing that has ever happened to me.”

Stiles blinked, confusion crossing his face. Then a shy smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Really?”

A small smile crossed her lips. “Yes,” Lydia continued. “I’m sorry I freaked you out with my crying. I just….I was so overwhelmed. I didn’t know it could be like that.” Suddenly, Lydia’s face started to redden, she bit her bottom lip, and looked away.

Stiles gazed at her, wondering why she suddenly felt she needed to look away. “Lydia, you don’t ever have to apologize for being real with me. You know how beautiful you are when you cry? I just don’t like to see you in pain.” He nudged her face back to his. “What do you mean, you didn’t know?”

Lydia looked into his eyes again, searching for the sign she needed to continue. She felt his thumbs stroking lazy circles around the back of her hand. She didn’t even think he realized he was doing it, he just did it because he needed to touch her--the thought of it gave her courage.

“I--I didn’t know it could be that _good_.”

A self-satisfied grin slowly spread across Stiles’ face. “So I was good, eh?” he said in a cocky voice, his eyebrows wagging at her, teasing.

Lydia smiled a sad sort of smile as she looked at him, willing herself the bravery to tell him what she really meant. “Yes, you were. But Stiles, what I mean is that it was amazing...for _me_ , too.”

The cocky exterior slowly faded away into comprehension as Stiles processed what she was saying. “Wait, Lydia,” his voice dropped as if he was revealing a secret, “You’re not saying that you’ve never had an orgasm before.”

Lydia threw him a look that he recognized immediately--the you’re-an-idiot look. “Stiles. I am a perfectly capable woman. I have known how to get myself off since I was 15. Of course I have had an orgasm.” Her momentary haughtiness faded away into something vulnerable. “Do you remember what you said to me last night when we got out of the car? You said you didn’t want that to be our first time _because you wanted more than that for me_ . That’s the first time in my life that anyone was interested in me more than in themselves. I _have_ had an orgasm before--I have just never had one from a guy.”

The silence that follows seems to stretch on forever. Stiles looks at her, completely and hopelessly lost. Her words are so completely mind-blowing that they wreck him. He doesn’t know what to say in response, so he just stares. She feels her walls threatening to come down under his intense gaze, so she sits up, pulls up her knees to her chest and starts talking before she loses her nerve.

“Jackson and I started dating when I was 14. He was the first guy I ever slept with. For a long time I didn’t even know I was missing _anything_ . I would give him what he wanted because I was so in love with him.” Stiles visibly flinches. Lydia notices but continues, “I _thought_ he loved me, too. But I was an idiot. Jackson only loved himself. The things he made me do to him…” she trailed off, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “Sometimes I would get close, so I knew that there was more. But he would always finish before anything happened for me, or he would pull out and make me give him a hand job.” Lydia looked down at Stiles, his eyes wide, but his expression unreadable.  “I would get so frustrated, you know? I’d be lying next to him afterwards and my insides were just screaming and he just...didn’t care. He would always want me to leave. I had to plead for him to hold me afterwards, but he was really only interested if I had given him a blowjob. Eventually I started taking matters into my own hands. The first time I got myself off, I cried afterwards. Because then I _knew_ . After that, when I would stay with him, he’d fall asleep and I would sneak into the bathroom to get myself off before I went home so I wouldn’t be so frustrated.” Lydia hugged her knees again. She had never shared that with anyone before, not even Allison. It was too humiliating. She doesn’t know why she shared it with Stiles, but what had just happened between the two of them was so pure and beautiful, and so _different_. She just hadn’t been able to keep it inside anymore.

Suddenly, Stiles broke away from her, rolling over so his back was to her, grabbing his phone from the nightstand.

“What are you doing?” Lydia asked.

“Texting Mason to give me my bat back. I swear to God if I ever see that fucker Jackson in person, I’m gonna need it…” His fingers flew over the keyboard, but stopped as Lydia put her hand on his bare shoulder.

“Stiles…”

He slammed his phone down and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling, unable to look at her, the anger emanating from him like a fog. “What about Aiden?”

Lydia was surprised to see him so angry. It caught her off guard. “Aiden? Aiden was an excellent makeout partner, and I think it would have happened with him eventually.” Stiles rolled his eyes at that. “He was sweet to me, you know--but when it came down to actually finishing the job, we were always….interrupted.”

Stiles threw her an incredulous look. “Interrupted? Some guy gets to go down on Lydia Martin and he allows things to get interrupted??”

Lydia groaned. “Stiles, you _are_ remembering what happened that year, right?” She looked at him pointedly and continued, frustration rising. “It wasn’t like he didn’t want to try! It seems like every other week the Oni were hunting us, or the twins were trying to kill Scott, or Isaac was trying to kill the twins, or you... The one time I had it set up perfectly for he and I, you were lost in the woods and I dragged everyone to Eichen House looking for you!” Lydia halted, the feeling of hopelessness she had that night returning instantly to her memory. “There were just a _few_ more important things happening than trying to get him in my pants.”

“Lydia, don’t tell me not to be angry. You can’t tell me what you just told me and expect me to just be calm about it. You two dated for three years. Three _years_ , Lydia! And you tell me that in that entire time that bastard couldn’t think of someone else for five fucking minutes? And not just anyone else--someone he _loved_ ?” He spat the word out, his implication of Jackson’s lack of feelings being made perfectly clear. “He used you. That fucker used you as his bona fide sex doll for three fucking  years...” He trailed off, staring at the ceiling, the agitation he was feeling taking him over. His hands were knotting the sheets in frustration. Suddenly, he eyes light up with understanding. “God, that’s why you kept saying ‘please’, isn’t it?” Lydia’s face flushed. “Did you think it would be the same with me? That I would only want what you could give to me? I would _never_ treat you like that. Never. You know that, don’t you?”

She tried to reassure him. “I know, Stiles. You would never hurt me. You would never use me. You’ve only ever loved and protected me. I _know_. ”

“I hope you know!” Stiles interrupted. “Jackson didn’t see you at all, did he? Because I swear to you, if he could have seen what I saw tonight, how filled with passion you were, how your cheeks flushed and your lips were swollen with kisses…” His anger slowly subsided as the memories returned to him. “If he could have known how your back arched up as I touched you, how your moans echoed around the room, how your body became slick with sweat, how you clenched me so tight inside as you came around me… He never could have….” Stiles’ voice was cracking and breaking with the memories. “For so long, Lydia, I have been consumed with jealousy for what he had with you. I imagined all of these moments that you were sharing with him and wishing it were me, dreaming it was me, and I would get crazed about it. But now I know.” He looked at Lydia, “He’s an asshole. And a complete, fucking idiot.” Stiles’ anger had dissipated, but he couldn’t hide his irritation from her.

Lydia looked back at him. “You’re an idiot, too, Stiles,” she says, quietly. Stiles turned toward her. “Do you know how hard it was for me to watch you with Malia? You loved me, and I was finally ready to try with you, and you were just...gone. I had just lost my best friend, and then I lost you, too.”

“Okay, I _am_ an idiot. I’m pretty sure everyone knows that. I can’t go back and change what happened with Malia. Sometimes I wish I could--I think about all that time that you and I lost and it kills me. I always imagined my first time being with you.” He looked at her, the gentleness back in his eyes. “Lydia Martin, I may have slept with her, but you’re the only one I have ever loved.”

“Stiles, you’re the only one I’ve ever been with that loved me back.”

They each laid in silence, the space between them feeling like a canyon. Lydia knew he was angry--not at her, really, but she wanted to give him the space he needed. She sighed when she felt him turning back to her, his legs intertwining with hers again, his arms wrapping around her and closing the space between them. He leaned his forehead into her. “This is the last time we let them in the room with us, agreed?”

Lydia laid a gentle kiss on his lips. “Agreed.”

 

*******************

 

Lydia was the first to wake in the morning. She felt the rays of sunlight filtering through the blinds, and allowed herself to take in her surroundings. She was warm--deliciously warm. Stiles’ arm was draped across her waist, his legs intertwined with hers, and his chest was pressed up tight against her back. His face was buried in her hair--how could he possibly breathe, she wondered. She didn’t want to get up--they had come together two more times overnight (Stiles was a _miracle_ , she decided)--and her body ached in all these incredible ways. She didn’t want to wake Stiles--but if she didn’t go to the bathroom soon, there was going to be a problem. She slowly lifted his arm and disentangled herself. She padded to the bathroom, smiling at the discarded clothes she stepped around. When she finished, she looked in the mirror. She had to admit: Just-Fucked-Stiles Hair was something she could easily get used to. She thought about finger-combing the mess, but decided against it and headed back into the room. Stiles hadn’t moved at all. Lydia took the opportunity to drink in the sight of him. His back rose and fell with his deep breaths, his arm draped across where Lydia laid a few minutes before.

Her chest filled with an overwhelming sense of adoration. This man, this charming, spastic, utterly devoted man was hers. She was going to spend every minute of every day showing him just how much she loved him. She was suddenly struck with an idea. She grabbed her phone and his jersey from the floor and fished around for her underwear. She threw them on hurriedly and left the room as quietly as possible.

A few minutes later, Stiles was just starting to stir when she came back in the room and closed the door. “Lydia?” He rubbed his face and turned onto his back.

“I’m here.” He looked at the foot of the bed, where she was standing. She threw his jersey back onto the floor and stepped out of her underwear. She was about to jump back under the covers with him when he held up his hand.

“Whoa. Stop right there.” Stiles looked at her.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Lydia asked, concerned.

“Oh, nothing is wrong. This is just the best fucking view of my life, that’s all.” He gave her a smile.  “Give a man the chance to savor it a bit.”

Lydia smiled shyly back at him. “Oh, really? Well, then.” She looked at him thoughtfully. Her expression changed as she slowly pouted her full lips into a sexy, knowing smile. She closed her eyes and parted her lips. Her right hand trailed up her thigh, moving deliberately slow as it crossed her hip and moved across her stomach and back down. Her left hand lifted to the side of her neck, sweeping her hair to one side and then coming across her face to pull on her bottom lip. She slowly turned, achingly slow, angling her head down as she turned so her hair made a curtain down to her breast. She trailed her hand down her collarbone to the underside of her breast, touching lightly with the back of her fingertips and then down her side. As she faced him again she opened her eyes back up to him through her lashes, licking her top lip with agonizing slowness, her breasts rising and falling with her breaths.

Stiles swallowed thickly and struggled to find his voice. “Holy fuck, Lydia. How did you do that?”

Her voice was low and intense. “Do what, Stiles?” She slowly stepped toward the bed and bent down, intentionally moving as slowly as possible as she crawled toward him. “Do what?”

“Y-you…..” He was having trouble gaining purchase on his thoughts as Lydia crawled towards him, her eyes filled with want. “You just wrecked me with that little show, do you know that?”

Lydia crawled up either side of his legs, and settled herself on her knees at his hips, feeling his hardness under the sheets. She rested her hands on his stomach and gave a little contented sigh.

His hands slid up the outside of her thighs, his thumbs rubbing slow circles on the top. “I liked that show--but this one will be even better.” His thumbs circled lower, trailing toward the heat of her.

“What show is that?” Lydia was restless against him, her insides curling at the anticipation of his touch.

“The one where you sit there and I watch you come apart.” He raised his knees and her hips tipped forward and he was touching her, his thumb separating her folds, moving to make circles around her clit, the other hand moving down to her opening, his finger slowly pushing inside. “Mmm...so wet already, Lydia?”

Lydia couldn’t help the low groan that came from her mouth, her head falling back against his knees. She put her hands on his forearms, gripping them, silently urging him on. The ache inside her was building fast, and the magic that Stiles was doing with his fingers was taking her to the edge faster than she could think. She lifted her head up to look at him, captured by the intense gaze he was giving her.

The look in Lydia’s eyes was wild. Stiles was fascinated by it. He loved touching her, but her response was like a drug to him. He would never get used to seeing Lydia so uninhibited--and knowing that it was because of _him_ was the most awe-inspiring thing he could imagine. He wanted to give her this every day for the rest of his life. His thumb continued its rhythmic motion, moving ever faster, his fingers pressing against her front. He pushed two of his long fingers up inside her, relishing how wet she was on his palm, the sound of her groans driving him onward. He slid his fingers in and out, building up the speed as he felt Lydia quicken against him.

“Come on, baby. Come for me.” At his words, so filled with love and desire, Lydia felt the pressure inside of herself burst, her eyes rolling back in pleasure, and she fell in a spiral, down, down, down, clenching deliciously around him as she whimpered his name. He continued to stroke her down, whispering words she couldn’t understand, the thunder of her heartbeat resounding in her ears as she wound down around him. She fell back against his knees, breathing heavily as she came down from the high.

“ _Fuck_ , Stiles.” She slowly sat up, looking down at him with incredulous eyes.

“If you insist.” Stiles offered his mischievous grin. “I was totally right. Your sexy spin was good--but that show you just did? WAY better.”

Lydia flushed pink. “You know, those fingers of yours are _really_ going to be a problem for me and my concentration this semester.”

“Thinking about your lips almost made me fail World History our Junior year. I feel your pain, sweetheart.”

“You know what else I feel...” She shifted her weight, pressing his knees down so she could feel his hardness against her again, and she heard his breath hitch. “I love you, Stiles Stilinski.” She bent down and gave him a long, drugging kiss. Her hands trailed along his sides and came up to rest on his chest, her fingers circling his nipples.

“Mmm….I love the sound of that.”

She left his mouth, trailing her lips along his neck to his earlobe, nipping gently at him, her fingers continuing to torment his nipple. She felt him moving restlessly underneath her, small groans in his throat as she trailed kisses down his neck and along his collarbone. When she kissed a hot path to his other nipple, her tongue rubbing in bold circles around it, she moved her hands lower to pull the sheet away from him. She continued her descent, kissing his smooth skin, using her fingertips to trace a lazy path along the moles that dotted his stomach. He instinctively jerked away from her fingertips on his ribs, and she couldn’t help the smile that broke through. “Ticklish, Mr. Stilinski? I will _have_ to remember that.” She continued her hot path down his body, until she reached his hard cock. She took the tip into her mouth and sucked on him gently, then licked him from base to tip before taking the whole of him into her mouth.

“Jesus….” Stiles lifted himself up on his elbows to watch her. She always looked beautiful, but seeing her like this, with her mouth full of him, her hair brushing the sides of his thighs, she looked ethereal. His own personal angel, sent down to ravage him from the outside in. He reached his hand down, unable to stop himself from trying to give her pleasure, even as she was making his hips buck up into her with the spell she was weaving on him. He teased her nipple, tweaking it in his fingers and she moaned on him, making him moan in response. “Please, Lydia. Let me touch you, too.”

She slid her legs to his side, never taking her mouth off of him as her fingers massaged him. He was able to reach her, and started fingering her, but decided it wasn’t enough. He wanted to taste her. He pulled her leg over him so that she was straddling his chest and pulled back on her hips until she was over his mouth. His tongue replaced his fingers, and he felt Lydia moan out. She was writhing against his stomach and taking him in and out in long, hard strokes, and he was lapping up every inch of her with his tongue, and it was building and peaking between them until Stiles didn’t think he could stand it another second. Suddenly Lydia sat up and slid down his body and pushed herself down onto his cock with such intensity he almost lost it.

She leaned down and put her hands on his knees and started grinding her hips against him, moaning when hit the spot where his cock was pressing against her most sensitive spot from the inside. “God, it’s so _deep_ this way, Stiles. I--I---” She moved in circles, moaning each time. Stiles sat up with her and reached around to finger her clit again, and she went silent, her head thrown back, the tremors rolling through her body as she rode her orgasm down. Seeing her surrender triggered his, and he poured himself into her, reaching around her front, kissing her shoulder and holding her close as they came down together.

Stiles flopped back onto the bed, and Lydia folded forward onto his legs, and they both couldn’t help the contented whimpers that released from their throats as they struggled to catch their breaths. Stiles reached down and massaged her backside, which caused Lydia to giggle. Her voice was muffled between Stiles’ knees and the sheets. “You have quite a view right now.”

“Umm, I don’t know if you have noticed, but you basically have the market on Perfect Ass. I could look at this _all_ day.”

Lydia sat up and looked at him over her shoulder. “Your ass is pretty perfect itself.” She slowly lifted herself off of him, turning over and laying across his chest, kissing him gently. She crossed her arms and rested her head on her hands. She wouldn’t ever tire of this view; Stiles’ warm eyes looking at her so softly, perfectly contented to having her draped over him like a blanket. His hands were trailing up and down her back, giving her goosebumps. She was content, too. As their eyes both closed, they breathed in and out together, sharing the comfortability that came with being with someone who you loved, and who loved you back the same. Something that, for them, was so new but already so broken in.

 

*******************

They lazed through a morning routine of showers and oatmeal (thank God Natalie kept some food in the kitchen--they were _starving_ \--which is the only way Lydia could actually get Stiles to eat the stuff. “Can’t you find any cinnamon rolls?”). The feeling of not wanting to leave made their bones heavy, their motions slow. Stiles tried convincing Lydia to stay another night, but when she told him she looked up the cabin on AirBnB and it was booked for the next 3 nights, he decided that an audience wasn’t really what they wanted and went to move the car closer while Lydia packed their bags.

Lydia quietly followed him and watched from the front window, her lower lip caught in her teeth. She saw him open the front door of the car and stop short. Her smile that was on the verge broke through in its entirety as she saw him reach in and pull out the surprise she had left for him earlier. His mouth popped open and then a full-wattage smile broke through. She ducked behind the curtain before he could see her spying on him, rushing to the kitchen to find something to do with her hands.

“Lydia?” A moment later, she heard him yell out after the front door opened.

“I’m in the kitchen,” she called back, struggling to keep her giddiness in check.

He walked into the kitchen, a grave look on his face. “Lydia, this is a terrible way to start our trip. All of this _lying_.”

She flashed him a teasing, knowing look. “Why, Stiles, whatever do you mean?”

“First, you tell me that there is nothing to eat in this house except oatmeal.” He pulled a banana from behind his back.

“Well, technically, that wasn’t _in_ the house, so I wasn’t lyi--”

“--And then,” he pipes in, interrupting her, “you tell me that this house is booked for three nights straight.”

“It _is_.”

He holds the banana up for her to see, the words Lydia had written there in the morning starting to appear. His eyes are alight with laughter as he feigns seriousness. “And I quote, ‘ _I_ booked the house. I love you Stiles.’” He looks back at her. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I didn’t want to leave. And neither did you. So let’s stay. We have time. We don’t need to be in DC for three full weeks.”

“Of course we’re staying. I want to fuck you on every surface in this house.” Lydia’s eyes widened and she smiled and bit her lip. He was _so_ romantic sometimes. “But what I mean is, what do you have to say for yourself about _this_?” He pointed to a small drawing she had made on the other side of the banana.

“What? Didn’t I get R2-D2 right?”

“ _THAT’S_ supposed to be R2-D2?!?  How long has it been since you’ve seen Star Wars?? God, I thought my _mom’s_ drawings were bad...” He was teasing her, but he couldn’t stop himself from pulling her into him, his soft smile melting her. “Lydia Martin, you are just the most--”

Lydia silenced him with a kiss, wrapping her arms around his waist. He responded enthusiastically, hauling her up against him with one hand on her ass and one threading through her hair. She pulled away gently and put her hand on his heart. “I love you too, Stiles.”

“You know, we’re going to have to get some groceries. I won’t survive if we have to eat oatmeal every meal.”

“We can eat out for dinner every night that we’re here.”

“That’s perfect. I love eating you out.” He gave her a wink.

She playfully swatted his ass. “I mean _food_ , Stiles.”  
  
“Sure you do.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic only exists because of the inspiration I gathered from so many of you amazing incredible wonderful Stydia writers--especially @writergirl8, @maggsam, and @afineskyline. You all inspired me to actually put pen to paper again (or--fingers to keyboard), and I am forever thankful. Because of you, I got to spend late nights with Stiles blathering on and on in my subconscious, and I was lucky enough that Lydia got in a couple of words, too.
> 
> I will now hide my head behind my hands in anxious anticipation of what y'all thought. So help me out and leave a comment, would'ya?


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